We left St Davids with the intention of driving along the Pembrokeshire coast but the mist and cloud and rain soon put an end to cliff top views and beach vistas so we drove straight to Tenby. Although it was wet, it was still like a postcard, albeit one that had been dropped in the gutter following a steady drizzle all day. A relaxing day was spent browsing, reading, sketching and watching. Might stay another day.
Snowdonia
The Snowdon National Park has a cog railway which takes those who don’t want to walk the 6 hours to the summit, on a leisurely two and a half hour up and down the mountain. We have had overcast weather with smatterings of rain for 6 weeks and would you believe it, we woke to a fine clear, sunny day for the rail journey! Views of course, were picture postcard stuff. Get that operation on Sharon’s knees and we could walk the hills.Mind you the train ride was not all beer and skittles. We had to breathe the burnt coal fumes from the steam engine which filled the carriages at every turn of the bend, and we were crammed into the single carriage like buried Chinese warriors. The road trip back to Criccieth was on a Michelin map green road, through the passes in the mountains. We stopped on the side of the road and passed through a gate, ignoring the dead sheep just in front of us, and walked down the slope a little and found a lovely green bank overlooking the valley, the river, the lake and the mountains. The sun was shining, I took off my shirt, laid the blanket on the ground and looked at Sharon, a misty feeling coming over me.
She said,”Your glasses fell off when you took off your shirt!”
We sat on the Criccieth beach on the blue-grey flat round stones for a couple of hours soaking up the heat until the sun disappeared behind the guest houses on the esplanade.
Cricceth, Wales
The motorways here are fantastic and in a few hours we were in Wales, Old North Wales, as apposed to the newer variety down under. The tourist information centre in Porthmadog booked a B & B for us in Criccieth, a few miles down the road on the beach. What a great spot! On the Lyth Peninsula with the sun shining on the sandy, pebbly, boulder strewn beach, the sun going down – yes, the sun, – a yarn with Emlyn, the barman with the big belly and loads of stories to tell in the local over a couple of drinks. He showed me his photos of the fish he caught in Canada, tried to convince me to join his World Cup tipping competition, talked about the eels he spears on the beach at low tide, about his uncle who runs a pub in Galway who won’t allow women to drink there (Do you have a wine? No! But they do next door) He asked me, did you hear the one about the Texan who walked into a bar in Dublin and said, “I’ll give a $1000 to anyone who can drink 50 pints of Guinness in an hour. No-one answered. Paddy, who was sitting in the corner of the bar, got up and walked outside returning a half an hour later. “Ease de bet steel on?” he asked the Texan, and proceeded to drink the 50 pints within the allotted time. “Why did you go outside when I first offered the money”, the Texan said. Paddy replied, ”I wanted ta be sure it could be done.”
He left us on our own for ten minutes saying, I’ve just got to go out for a while to check the lifeboats. We were the only ones in the bar then. Sharon took a photo of me in charge.